"a pianist whose hallmark is clarity without coldness" — Jon Jacob
Clare Hammond’s new recording with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and George Vass invites us into a world of invention, warmth, and wit brought into focus by a pianist whose hallmark is clarity without coldness. Pianist Clare Hammond has collaborated with the BBC Symphony Orchestra and conductor George Vass to offer a thought-provoking contrast of three mid-twentieth-century works for piano and orchestra written within thirty years of each other.
In the sleeve notes, Clare Hammond describes recording this album with Vass and the BBC Symphony Orchestra as an immensely fulfilling experience. Listening, it’s hard not to hear that evident in her playing. Her sound carries a distinctive crispness — even in the most lyrical passages — that sets her apart from many amongst her generation. There’s a reassuring fastidiousness in the placing of every note. The second-movement solo line in Walton’s Sinfonia Concertante, delicately shadowed by the flutes, is a striking example: poised, lucid, and unshowy. Yet the clarity comes with a self-assured warmth. The movement’s swift harmonic shifts and intricately woven textures grow from careful decision-making — the kind of detail in music-making that acts as a powerful trigger for the imaginative listener. The outer movements are textbook Walton, the concluding finale decorated with dazzling brass and an enveloping string sound from the BBC Symphony Orchestra that could, if you shut your eyes for a moment, easily sweep you off your feet. The material for keyboard may not have the allure it does in the first two movements — it’s the rhythm that does a lot of the heavy lifting here — but Hammond’s execution remains characteristically sharp and dry, taut percussion giving the final bars a playful, throwaway wink.
Britten’s Diversions are essentially a set of theme and variations, though disguised as a series of evocative vignettes. Written in 1941 for left-handed pianist Paul Wittgenstein, when the composer was living in the US during the Second World War, the work carries a glorious sense of youthful energy. The second-movement Romance in particular — a simple, slightly awkward melodic idea confidently underpinned by dry yet committed strings — captures the early Britten sound. In the March that follows, Clare Hammond creates a playful distraction from the thunderous, faintly pompous orchestral accompaniment. The piano articulation in the Arabesque is carefully spun gold, while the Badinerie bubbles along with gurgling wit. The virtuosity and the ensemble evident in the Toccata build the tension nicely before the orchestra takes on the lead in material with more than a whiff of Copland about it.
The path to premiering Tippett’s Piano Concerto — the third work on this album — was far from straightforward. Originally intended for pianist Noel Mewton-Wood, who died in December 1953, the work was later offered to Julius Katchen, who famously walked out of rehearsals claiming it was unplayable.
Seventy-five years later, that claim feels hard to fathom when hearing Hammond and the BBC Symphony Orchestra in this performance. Her recording places her firmly within a distinguished line of British pianists who have championed the work — Howard Shelley, John Ogdon, Benjamin Frith, and Steven Osborne among them. This feels the richest of the three concertos on the album: a supple blend of wind and brass, warm strings, and nimble shifts of style, mood, and colour from the piano. The lyrical second movement glows with shimmering luminosity, its harmonies shifting purposefully beneath an undercurrent of quiet urgency. Hammond’s clarity ensures it never slips into sentimentality, maintaining a razor-sharp edge within an overarching legato line. The closing Vivace has a sprightly energy that’s finely judged — never overstated — its gentle introspection giving way to a buoyant dance that brings the work to a joyously resolute close. A defining album for Clare Hammond, which inevitably demands the question: what next?